Pain is a universal invariant - Searching
by AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: Summery – Scully is searching. Notes - a series of one-shots from 'Reqiuem' to post 'Deadalive'/'Three words' They will eventually be put together in order but until then I will post them as I write them. Most are first person POV from Scully's perspective. But also, a couple where Scully is being observed. Timeline – Post 'Requiem'/'Within'/'Without' Scully POV
Summery – Scully is searching.

Notes - a series of one-shots from 'Reqiuem' to post 'Deadalive'/'Three words'

They will eventually be put together in order but until then I will post them as I write them. Most are first person POV from Scully's perspective. But also, a couple where Scully is being observed.

 **Please review. I will pay you.**

Timeline – Post 'Requiem.'

Scully POV

Disclaimer – I wish they were mine. Sadly they aren't.

Acknowledgment - Thank you to the very wonderful spin84 for being my new beta friend

Pain is a universal invariant – Searching

By

AllyinthekeyofX

I am walking.

I find myself walking often at the moment, aimlessly walking, studying the faces around me as I cling on to the hope that one of them might be his.

I've studied thousands of faces over the last few weeks, searching unconsciously for him even when I am concerned with more mundane real-life activities. I search the streets for him when I'm driving to work, every dark head amongst the crowds causing me to blink back the image of him, to take a second glance. But I am always disappointed.

In the beginning, every disappointment brought fresh tears that burned and pricked my eyelids. Every disappointment tore away another tiny piece of my heart. Every disappointment made a small part of me wither and die.

But now, weeks have passed and I have rebuilt my walls. Every brick strengthened, every crack filled; my facade firmly back in place.

Dana Scully.

Impenetrable

Unfeeling.

Living up to my Ice Queen nickname that followed me around Quantico so many years ago.

I think even Skinner was surprised on how rapidly I recovered from the grim news that Mulder was gone. He tried in vain to persuade me to take some time, _begging_ me almost to allow myself time to process.

Mulders disappearance, the baby, my health - all these things provoked a worried frown to crease his brow every time he looked at me. He didn't say so in as many words. _I just knew._ But despite this, I returned to work the next day for the meeting with Kersch and just carried on from there.

To sift aimlessly through the basement office I had once shared with Mulder. No file was ignored, no piece of paper left unturned, but I found nothing. At least I found nothing aside from more heartache even as I stubbornly kept his desk dust free, allowing no one to touch it but me. Everything is exactly as he left it - right down to a small pile of broken seed husks that he had neglected to throw in to the trash. It's ready for him to walk through the door and re-claim his rightful place.

I don't care how long it takes.

The only thing I have removed from the office is the framed picture of us that used to sit on the shelf above his desk.

I can't even remember when it was taken, let alone who took it, it just appeared there one day. I had never even really studied it before Mulder was gone. It was just one of those things I was aware existed in the peripherals of my vision. Now though, I could describe it in minute detail to anyone who might be interested. I have traced every line, every detail of that photograph with my eyes and now it's become a part of me.

It's the only picture I have of him.

I torture myself with that photograph in much the same way I tortured myself with Emily. I find myself drifting towards it at odd times of the day and night, holding it against me as the tears once more begin to flow.

Oh yeah - I still cry, God knows I still cry. But my crying is done in private. The time for public displays of mourning are long since gone.

I can't fall apart. Not now. Not until we find him.

He has been gone for six weeks.

Exactly half the time I was gone all those years ago. My Mother told me quietly one day that he never gave up hope that I would return. Even when the people who loved me the most had begun to come to terms with the fact that I might be lost to them.

Her words gave me the strength I needed to carry on.

To carry on looking even when I'm not sure what it is I'm looking for.

And then there is Doggett.

 _My new partner._

The replacement for a man who to me, is irreplaceable.

I try to be professional around him. I offer him nothing more; barely speaking to him unless it's necessitated by a case or some other professional courtesy. And I think in another life, under different circumstances, we might have been friends.

He's a good man.

An _honourable_ man.

But he's not Mulder.

And for that reason I don't want him here.

I try to escape the office as early as I can most days. I'm no longer concerned about my professional reputation. In fact very little is of concern to me right now.

Certainly not how my dismissal of this interloper amongst Mulders files may be hurting his feelings. In truth, I just want Doggett to go before I start to hate him as much as I hate myself.

I have stopped going home. It wasn't a conscious decision on my part - I just _needed_ Mulder so badly that I just couldn't think what else to do.

So, one night just a little less than a week after he was taken I packed a bag, climbed in the car and drove myself over to his apartment.

I used my key to let myself in, breathed in the lingering scent of him, trailing my fingertips along the walls as I drifted from room to room. Eventually, I collapsed on to the bed - the very bed in which we had finally succumbed to each other - and wept until I thought my heart would break in two. It didn't of course. I woke up the next morning, surrounded by the scent of him and carried on. But I have not been home since that day except to pick up clothing, toiletries and other daily necessities.

And every night, I go walking under the stars. Long after the city has settled down to sleep for the night, I walk. I feel closest to him when I can feel the soft summer breezes on my face. I hear him speaking to me through the whispering leaves, feel his hand on my back, guiding my gently as I attempt the impossible. The memory of his touch soothes me, allows me to believe that one day we will find him.

 _We have to find him._

So I keep searching.

Until the day I die, I will search for him.

End


End file.
